What reality is this
quivering in the sinuous
pockets of bloodblackness
in between my thighs?
It tastes of bitter negligence
and smells of death
by inevitable disappointment.
It hides in the safety of crossed legs
never daring to crawl up
to my lips, to my eyes,
existing unnoticed by all
until a hungry lover
steals away with it in the night
and suddenly I am empty.
So he replaces it with
doubt, fear and misunderstanding.
The absence of sadness
is not the equivalent of happiness.

09/12/2002

Posted on 10/24/2002
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